The 10th Muse
by Calex
Summary: “. Malfoy’s share. We share all our glories and our downfalls. Mostly, we share our spoils and somehow, on that bright Autumn late afternoon, much brighter than usual for England, I realised that she was not a prize. That she was real.” [COMPLETE]
1. The Beginning

Title: 10th Muse

Author: Calex

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, the character belongs to JK Rowling, who thought of them. I own merely the plot

Characters: Lucius, Ginny, Draco, mentioning of Blaise Zabini

Summary: ". _Malfoy's share._ We share all our glories and our downfalls. Mostly, we share our spoils and somehow, on that bright Autumn late afternoon, much brighter than usual for England, I realised that she was not a prize. That she was real."

Chapter 1: The Beginning

I've always taken for granted, I think, this life that I have. I was born, scion of the Malfoy family. I had looks, money, power; I was intelligent, I knew how to live in the life of aristocracy that I was born into. I went into everything with both eyes open, always knowing what people expected of me. I went to Hogwarts, was a prefect; Prince of Slytherin house. Played Quidditch because Quidditch was expected, despite being born of a noble household. I had always had respectable results. Would have been Head Boy had that bloody Gryffindor Potter not been the Headmaster's favourite. Met Narcissa Black, married her. Got a son who looks to be the perfect future head of the Malfoy house. _Rotted in Azkaban._

Ah, yes. Something I'd tried to forget, Azkaban is not exactly the place to be for a nobleman. However, I'd made my mistakes and I'd paid for them. And harshly. Very harshly. I remember staring at the cold, dank walls of my cell, hearing the malevolent wails of the rest of my inmates. I used to count the days, hours, minutes, _seconds_ of my imprisonment, heard time moving in a distinctive _tick, tock, tick, tock_ of a clock ticking time away. I went close to insanity, so very close. I had always taken so much care over my appearance, but in there, there were other things that were important. Like my health, my sanity. I passed away my time thinking up revenge. _Potter.... _Father and son, both the same. Taking a part in my downfall. I, who used to be the right hand man of the _Great Dark Lord._ The Great Dark Lord... what a joke. Nothing but a bitter, cruel joke. Nothing. Nothing but the signal of my downfall, my great fall from grace.

Well. I am not a Malfoy for nothing. I've been trained, by my own father, to not be affected by pain. I will endure, and I will live. And I have. I have lived. I have endured. And I will do so again. Five long years was I in there, five years of sheer, torturous hell I'd been through. Quiet, careful. Waiting for the right moment before I could get back and administer the hell that my enemies deserved... only to find that the enemy was at home. My darling boy's girlfriend-cum-fiancée. The _delightful_ and _darling_ Virginia Weasley. Ginny.

It'd been five years since I'd seen the halls of my home, five years since I'd seen or held my wife. Clapped my son on his back and told him "well done". Five years.... Oh how things can change in five years. The halls, I remember, were softer. The air of tense dignity that had always been in the Malfoy home was... lost. Not present. Gone. And I'd heard laughter, _laughter_ in my home that wasn't polite, careful. It was carefree. No one to wait for me, I was standing alone, all alone in the halls. And when I searched for the source of the sound.... I saw the flash of sunlight, flashing from blood and cream. The flash of fire and ice on the carefully maintained dark green grass. Two figures intertwined and gentle, soft. They'd moved in a flurry of movement, as I made my presence known. Two pairs of eyes widened with shock, one grey... like my own. The other a dark, soulful, melting brown. _Ginevra._ The face of my lord's beauty.

I must admit to a kind of perverse sense of pleasure as her cheeks were tinted a bright red. How fetching she looked, in a simple pale blue frock with a straw hat clutched in her hand, grass in her hair and staining her dress. There was a spot of mud on her cheek that I so wished to gently wipe off... had I not caught the look on my son's face and knew that things were not as they seemed. _Malfoy's share._ We share all our glories and our downfalls. Mostly, we share our spoils and somehow, on that bright Autumn late afternoon, much brighter than usual for England, I realised that she was not a prize. That she was real. Imagine my shock, my own son, bringing _filth_ into the family. A _Weasley_ at that. The littlest one, the girl I remember looking down at when she was but 11, staring up at me with big brown eyes, fearless. Oh, how much those eyes had changed. Still fearless, but it had lost that softness, that naïveté. There was a hardness in those brown depths, now. A wariness. And, I was surprised to see, a _calculative-ness._ And she stared me down, that day, stared me down as I stared her down, both unwilling to give in. In the end, it was she who turned, but I must admit it was because that I'd had much more practice. Suddenly... suddenly she wasn't _just_ filth. Suddenly she was more, so much more. I grew...intrigued.

Draco, my beloved son, had then shocked me, shocked his dear father, into an early grave. Or would have, had I not guessed for myself. He had proposed and the sun seemed to choose that very moment to glint off of the diamond ring that he had bestowed upon her that very day. _My mother's ring_. **His** mother's ring. The ring of the Malfoy's for centuries and she wore it on her finger. I had thought, somewhat detached, that it looked as if it belonged there. On her finger. And then... my wife. I remembered my wife, my dearest Narcissa, who had never taken that ring off. I had frowned, I think. Lines marring my face, lines that had not existed until Azkaban. And I felt... bereaved. I knew. And I stood there under the sun staring at my son and his soon-to-be-wife and I _knew_ that my wife, my darling Narcissa... was dead.

Malfoy Manor was shrouded in darkness, the likes surpassing greatly that look on my son's face on that first day I was back. Black drapes were on each and every window, heavy black material covered each surface. Narcissa... the woman that I'd married and the woman that had borne my son. I remember when I first saw her, walking down towards the sorting hat, looking regal as a queen and unafraid. But I saw the clenched jaw, I saw the tight fist lying away from prying eyes. She was a Black, she didn't show weakness. She was only 11. I'd been drawn to little Cissa Black, watched out for her in Slytherin. She never needed assistance, but I persisted. She was three years younger than I was, but she was already a beauty. Pale blonde hair like the finest silk, eyes a deep cornflower blue and a flawless complexion like ivory stained with rose.

She was thirteen when I kissed her first. Lips soft as rose petals, surrendering to me, opening for me. We were destined to be together, us two. No one was much surprised, although she was younger. Things like that were looked down on in Hogwarts at those days. Thirteen... She was sixteen when she lost her virginity to me, on the very hour of her birth, she came for me with my name cried out in my ear. We got married on the eve of her nineteenth birthday and Draco was born a few months after that. We became the Lord and Lady of Malfoy Manor after... after _my Lord_ had killed my parents. And I joined his ranks. I, Lucius Roderique Malfoy, son of Demetrius Alexander Malfoy, joined the ranks of a _half-blood_, a _mockery_ of his own kind. He had no loyalty, but to himself. He was evil, merciless. Used whatever he could to whatever gain... and I was that gain. A Malfoy. The Malfoy heir. The Lord Malfoy. I was just 22 years old, filled with anger and impassioned by my parents' deaths. And he played me. Played me until my mind was wreaked with madness, made my soul and body feel pain that I had not felt before... and so I crumbled. And so I staggered. And so a Malfoy fell. Fell into the darkness that we had been dancing upon.

Narcissa... I remember the look in her eyes when she saw me after I came back. That look stays with me, haunts me even now that she lies cold and alone under feet of dirt, ensconced in her mahogany coffin, hands crossed over her stomach, white rose lying, with it's half opened head lying between her breast. Draco knew what to do, at least. I could give my son that. My son...apparently he was with the Potter boy when they killed Voldemort. He was next to him, had refrained from killing Voldemort. Potter had that pleasure, even Draco had the grace to let him have that small bit of vengeance. Bella, his dear aunt, wasn't so lucky. Bella was the one to have killed Narcissa. She was lucky to have Draco, I would have been much, _much_ worse.

I was kneeling by Narcissa's grave the day I finally talked to the Weasley girl. My hair had been shorn off in Azkaban, and had now just started to grow back. It was short, much shorter than I've ever had it. I must admit that it looked better, now. The angles and planes of my face was open for admiration... at least that's what the mirror said. She had wrapped her arms around my neck and laid her cheek a top of my head, I'd let her do it for a few seconds before asking her softly what she was thinking she was doing. She had let go of me as though I had burnt her and her eyes locked on mine.

"I thought you were Draco," she'd said, quietly. I had only managed to shake my head as I locked eyes with her, watched the melting brownness of her eyes. Like melted chocolate. Like cinnamon, like mahogany. Her hair had been tied up in a ponytail, lying between her shoulder blades in a fiery tail. Rain dotted her hair, made the copper turn to the colour of blood. There was a flush on her otherwise pale cheeks and her nose was just slightly tinted with pink. The silence grew and she had finally turned to go, only I had laid a hand on her arm and she turned to me, eyes questioning.

"You don't have to go," I'd said. She stilled, searched my eyes, wondering, perhaps, if I really was that evil bastard that had slipped that infernal diary into her basket. I thought she was going to decline, thought she'd shake her head and leave, but she surprised me yet again. She nodded, albeit statically.

"Alright."

We sat in silence, looking at the headstone with the graceful carving on the smooth marble. I traced the words gently with fingertips, feeling alone and yet oh so aware of the figure next to me, her living warmth scorching through the heavy material of my robes. She was the one who broke the silence

"Draco put in what he said you'd have wanted to be said."

I looked at the headstone, then at her. She was steadfastly refusing to meet my eyes, looking at the carved words.

_Narcissa Black Malfoy_

_Loving wife and mother_

_Her presence on this earth will be missed_

"_My reason, the physician to my love,  
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,  
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve  
Desire is death, which physic did except."_

Yes... perhaps it _was_ a fitting memorial to Narcissa. She did have an odd liking for that muggle poet. Shakespeare, I think was his name. Perhaps the last line of that particular sonnet had a meaning as well.

" _For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,  
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night."_

Ginny looked at me, a strange look in her eyes. I realized that I had quoted out loud, something I was prone to do in moments of loneliness.

"What are you looking at, child," I asked, harshly, but I'd realized that my voice had also gone husky with grief. A flash of compassion went through her eyes before it disappeared.

"It is a strange verse to say about a wife you are supposed to love," she had said, quietly.

"What do you propose you know about me?" I had said, harshly. I turned to her, eyes flashing cold fire. "What do you know of my relationship with my wife?" Her eyes were inscrutable as she said this:

"_O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me  
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;  
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,   
When thou thyself dost give invention light?"_

With that, Ginny got up and left, left me staring at her departing back, her hair hanging out in rat's tails. The yellow shirt she wore clung to her figure, dark spots on the bottom of her dark blue jeans, hanging low on slim hips, showing the barest hint of bare, tantalizingly pale flesh. I had to shake myself, chastised myself for thinking these thoughts... I was kneeling by my wife's grave and I was contemplating the _tantalizing bare flesh of my **son's fiancée**_. I felt disgusted, I felt dirty... and I couldn't help but be intrigued and...and felt something that I had not felt in a long time. I got up and laid a hand on Narcissa's headstone, staring broodingly at Malfoy Manor, thinking about what was waiting for me back there. Then I started walking, walking towards my home, my son, my helpless, empty life...and _Ginny_.


	2. Temptation

Title: 10th Muse

Author: Calex

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, the character belongs to JK Rowling, who thought of them. I own merely the plot

Characters: Lucius, Ginny, Draco, mentioning of Blaise Zabini

Summary: ". _Malfoy's share._ We share all our glories and our downfalls. Mostly, we share our spoils and somehow, on that bright Autumn late afternoon, much brighter than usual for England, I realised that she was not a prize. That she was real."

Chapter 2: Temptation

The days passed by in a blur, little bits of the same. I visited Narcissa's grave, Ginny would be there. We'd exchange cryptic comments. She'd go back, I'd follow. We'd pretend we're a happy family in the face of my son. My son... Draco. He knows something is amiss. There was tension, there. His jaw is always tight when he sees me, but he is ever so gentle with her. Gentle. No Malfoy is gentle. We are genteel, but never gentle. We are dignified and we might even fall under arrogant. But never, ever, in the history of the Malfoys for the past century are we ever **gentle.** But there he is. Watching her and his eyes softens. He cares for her and cares deeply, and that makes me afraid. For him, for her, for me. For us.

The next step in the twisted plot of a story that has become my life is probably in the rose garden. I was outside, it was late and cool and she'd stepped out, hesitating only slightly when she saw me before she strode over. I didn't turn, didn't smile, didn't acknowledge her in any other way. Truthfully, it had nothing to do with planning and everything to do with the moon. I'd never really taken time, before, to look at the moon. Now that I have, though, I was mesmerized, I couldn't look away. There were so many pits and falls in there, shadows played by the light. It was a full moon and it hung low in the sky, teasing.

"The moon is just an illusion, do you know," I finally said, softly, not turning to her. She started, turned to look at me, but made no other move. "It doesn't have it's own light, just steals a reflection from the sun."

"Apparently," Ginny nodded, slowly. And that was it. She didn't say anything else, just joined me in admiring the moon. Her arms were wrapped around her body, keeping in the heat, I suppose. I wondered what on earth she was thinking, prancing about outside in nothing but a thin cotton wrap to cover her negligee. I turned to look at her, now, my attention diverted from the moon. She could feel my gaze on her, could see my body angled, facing her, but still she didn't turn, just stared at the moon, some. "It's low, tonight. Almost like I could touch it. Mum..." here she faltered, but then doggedly went on. "Mum always said that the moon brought an omen...and one like this was a bad one."

Ah yes. Molly Weasley. Her mother. I remember her from school days, of course. Molly was in Narcissa's year, a pretty thing with the Ginevra's hair. Although, if I remember correctly, she had taken to Diggory in those days. How things do change. I looked at Ginevra, and noticed her shivering. I sighed, slipped my wand from the pocket of my night robe and casted a warming spell on us. She turned to me, then, nodding her thanks. We stood in silence for awhile more, before I asked her.

"What are you doing outside?"

"I couldn't sleep," she said, softly. "And I was standing by the window. I...saw you standing alone."

"So you came out to keep me company?" I felt my mouth curve sardonically. "How wonderful of you."

"The night is hardly a safe time to be alone, in."

"Concern, I truly am touched." I looked at her and she met my gaze, this time. "How noble of you. Although, I have to say that I can take care of myself."

"No one is invincible," was the only thing she said. I couldn't say anything to that, for I knew better than anyone that she was right. Voldemort had thought himself invincible; he had been killed by a teenaged boy. I had thought I was invincible in my impressionable youth. I became a Death Eater. I held her gaze and didn't realize that some time had passed since she had spoken until she delicately cleared her throat. "What are you doing out here alone?"

"I couldn't sleep, either," I admitted. I turned towards the moon once more. "Narcissa used to be the lightest of sleepers and she would never need more than four hours. Couldn't sleep more than four hours. She used to go for a walk, and this would be her favorite place to do so. She always talked of how different everything is in the stillness of the night. How different the moon was. I...just wanted to see what she saw." I didn't know why I had told her all that, didn't know why I felt that I **had** to tell her that. I stole a look at her from the corner of my eye, but she didn't seem phased at the thought that Lucius Malfoy, evil Death Eater git extraordinaire actually had human emotion. I felt my lips twist bitterly at that thought.

"Do you...miss her? Your wife, that is."

I did not expect that question, although now, looking back, I think I perhaps should have. She spoke so quietly, so hesitantly, it was almost as if she was afraid of something, afraid of...me?

"Everyday," I smiled faintly. "Every damned day. Narcissa and I were sweethearts from school. I was her first ever boyfriend. Her first every anything, really. We were well matched. She was like the...the other piece of my...of my..."

"Your soul?" she suggested, quietly. My mouth quirked up at that. And I answered half jokingly, half deadly serious.

"I don't have a soul."

There was quiet and then I felt a light caress at my hand. I looked down and saw her hand hovering near my own. She was studiously looking anywhere but at me. I looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, before sliding my hand unceremoniously over hers. I lifted our joint hands and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. I saw her smile, slightly. And suddenly... suddenly I felt that maybe I wasn't alone after all, that perhaps... perhaps I really did have, if not a soul, then _something_.

000

Ginny and I became...friends. Of a kind. It is hard to put into words what we are. I look at her and I feel...healed. She looks at me and she smiles, gets on with her life. It is frustrating, not knowing what she is thinking. She smiles, a little enigmatic smile, at me and I can't help but wonder but what's in that pretty little head of hers. But we don't talk about that. About why I'm suddenly... Lucius, and not Mister Malfoy, why she's Ginevra, but with a caressing tone. Why we talk, and talk, and can't seem to stop talking. Well, there are quiet moments between us, more often than not, to be perfectly honest. I...am not quite sure what this is between us, if there actually is something between us. She... looks after me, in a way. She's replacing Narcissa's place in my life, slowly but surely. I wonder what my dear wife would say, should she know what's going on in our lives. Did she approve of this match between our son and his fiancée? Did she realise... how much Ginevra looked like _her_, like Lily? Ah, Lily. I never... never expected it. Never wanted her life to end. Never... but ifs are dangerous, so I will not go down that road.

Despite popular belief, I was not always like this. Before...there was a time when I was as pure and untarnished as everyone else. Unfortunately, growing up in a life like mine, we learn early on to harden ourselves, if we didn't, we would be driven inexplicably insane. My father, may his soul (if he had one) rest in peace, was the one who had the unfortunate task of...showing me just how ugly this world of ours could be. And I sucked it in like the rest, gave the brilliant façade of indifference and elegance, of dignity and glamour that made so many among my peers hate me just for a mirage. I was not the man I portrayed, and yet I played him with such skill that many were fooled...I think myself, included. I thought I was that Lucius Malfoy, the cold, domineering, elegant man that had everything, the beautiful fiancée, the money, the class, the place in society... I had two lackeys, the fathers of the two who were my son's. I had followers. I had admirers. I had enemies. But I never had any friends.

It was too much, in those days. Very cloak and dagger. And yet I played along, although I hated every second of it, I played along until I couldn't tell playacting from reality, until I became the very thing that I hated. I became arrogant, I thought I had everything, after all, and in a sense, I did. And then my _esteemed _and _venerable_ lord came and killed the two people who acted as my rock, as the stable points in my life. Funny, really. Demetrius and Catherine Malfoy were hardly steady, dependable people, at least not in the eyes of society. And yet they did steady me, and I did depend on them. And then _he_ came and killed them, for not following him. And I was left alone, unprotected, stripped of all my pretences for once, faced with a true challenge....and I failed. I failed. I let my emotions rule, despite everything, _everything _that my father had taught me and went in to a stupid, stupid mission of revenge that made things infinitely easier for the Dark Lord to play me. It was so easy for him to use me, from there. He imprisoned me, took away my pride and my dignity, he drove me nearly insane and made me feel pain that I have never felt before, and I crumbled and I was defeated. Defeated. A Malfoy hasn't been defeated in centuries and I was the one who brought the family name down. I never felt as... helpless as I did, then. But I had no choice, none, you see. I couldn't do anything else. So I became the model Death Eater. I worked for a man I hated with an intense passion and I _envied_ all those other fools who didn't have a care in the world except for their own trivial lives. They who didn't have the deaths of hundreds to burden what was left of their souls.

I was the model father, although I never showed public affection towards my son, all knew that I was proud of him, all knew that I held him in great care, along with my wife. They knew that, in a way, I did love them. They didn't know that there was no way, that I loved them as a man who loved his family would. They never realised that I was a normal man, a real man, just like the rest of them. At first, they didn't know about my duties as Death Eater, so they envied me the life of a ministry man, a man who had Cornelius Fudge's ear. The man who, really, made all the important decisions. They hated me for what they thought I had, hated me for things I had no control over. And when it was revealed that I was in the ranks of Voldemort, they had a field day, finally they could hate me for something tangible, they could hate me and not seem like the insipid fools they were.

However, I still had some modicum of power, even in prison. My son and wife were never exploited; I made sure of that, made sure of their livelihoods. And I suffered for it, but at least I had that comforting thought that my family was safe, that my own, my blood and kin were safe. That, I had to be satisfied with, at least. And in some dose, I was. Satisfied, that is. But I was Lucius Malfoy after all, I'd had everything. It's hard to settle for so little when you've had so much. And so I became the target of belittlement. But I endured. No matter how much it pained me, I kept silent and let them say their fill. But at least in that exercise, I retained my dignity.

And then I was let free. I was released. No one knew, if I took Draco's reaction to heart. No one. I was just....let be. They knew, I would bet. Knew about my son's..._thing_ with Ginevra. No doubt they wished me to an early grave from the news. Of course, no one knew, no one knew that I never really...that I... that she reminded me of.... But that is not important. It isn't. It's not. It's just....it just is.

I make no sense, anymore. To all the world, I am still the same heartless bastard as I always was. Are they wrong? Or are they right? Have they always been right? About me, about my ideals? I used to let them think whatever they wanted, now I can't help but wonder... is it because what they think of me is true? Ah, but the more I think of this, the more I go around in circles. I get an...ache, sometimes. In my head. I've had the... the urge to go into muggle London. Yes... Maybe I shall whet my curiosity for that, at least. At least...

"Lucius?" Ginny's voice broke me from a reverie. I remember she was wearing green, that day. A big green sweater that just about swallowed her thin frame. Her hair was tied up in what is called, I believe, a "pony tail". Strange word, that, to liken a woman's hair to that of a horse's tail. But the muggles were always strange creatures. It's hard enough to try to second guess them, I've given up on it. Ah, she was still talking. I must have had a slightly glazed look in my eyes, for she stepped up to me and laid a hand gently on my arm. I looked down at it, thoughts flying into my mind at the speed of light. Thoughts, memories. Fantasies. I should stop there, I should have realised then, but I have always been a fool. I should have stepped away and left, should have.... Should have... but what ifs and should haves are never really any good. You can't do anything to change the past. What is done, as they say, is done. I might not have done anything at that particular moment, but I didn't _not_ do anything, either. I looked at her, and our gazes held... only to be broken when Draco called for her. She looked away, a faint flush on her cheeks. I couldn't believe that I had made her feel that. Me. The ex-Death Eater. The man who had sent her soul to Tom Riddle.

"Ginny," Draco came behind her, slid an arm around her waist almost proprietally, a tenseness in his manner. He gave me a guarded smile and inclined his head at me. "Father." He looked towards Ginny, again. "Where were you? We were supposed to have that picnic outside."

"I saw your father in here, alone. I... I thought he might appreciate some company and... would like to join us?" she looked at me through lowered lashes and I couldn't help but to look at her as well. Draco's gaze merely snapped between the two of us, disbelieving. His mouth thinned, but then he turned towards me and his tone was polite, albeit more than slightly cool.

"Well, _father_," he said the word as though it was more than slightly forced. "How about it? We were planning on a little picnic outside. It would be most pleasant if you could join us as well."

I looked at my son, coolly. I knew he didn't want me there, knew that for weeks now, our relationship was strained. And I also knew the reason for it. Ginny. Me. Us. Whatever this thing was. It was driving my relationship with my son further apart and part of me grieved that. But I was still a Malfoy. I realised a challenge if it was issued. And I didn't resist them. I shot him a cold smile as I place a hand on Ginny's shoulder, looking all the while as though it belonged there.

"Don't mind if I do."

The picnic, as I had expected, was extremely awkward. Ginevra and I would talk and Draco would glare, then he and Ginevra would talk and I didn't exist. She tried, though, valiantly to bring all of us together. She should have known better, should have known that that wasn't possible. Sad, so sad, that father and son would be torn apart because of one woman. And she had done nothing wrong, nothing but let her eyes linger a little, nothing but let her tone soften towards me as it did towards Draco. She did nothing in the face of actions. She spoke, but spoke of things that were immaterial. But her tone, her voice, her face... an intoxicating blend that hinted, just _hinted_ at something a little bit more.

There were no more picnics, although Ginevra did try to get us all to talk. It wouldn't work, could never work. She does try, though why I cannot imagine. We look at her, talk to her, hold her like two men vying for the same possession, like her fire, her beauty was a thing to be taken, to be owned and owned by us. She was pure, but she was also tainted. She wasn't snow or white, she had a darkness to her that the two of us held. Perhaps that is what drew us to her in the first place. Yes, _drew us_. I should stop pretending, or draw it out. For by that time I was inexplicably drawn to her. I wanted her like I wanted nothing else in my life. She was that drive that I strove for, looked for, hoped for since I found out about Narcissa's death. Narcissa... I still wonder, every day, every night what she would think about this situation. I can see her, serene and beautiful as ever, shaking her head at me from heaven, imploring me in that crystal voice of hers: _why, Lucius? Why are you doing this? Why do this to her, to Draco to you, to all of you?_ But would she approve? Of the choice I made? For I had made a choice, had made it since I saw her like fire in my back garden with my son. When I realised she was not a **thing**. She was going to be **mine**.


	3. Wrong

Title: 10th Muse

Author: Calex

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, the character belongs to JK Rowling, who thought of them. I own merely the plot

Characters: Lucius, Ginny, Draco, mentioning of Blaise Zabini

Summary: ". _Malfoy's share._ We share all our glories and our downfalls. Mostly, we share our spoils and somehow, on that bright Autumn late afternoon, much brighter than usual for England, I realised that she was not a prize. That she was real."

Chapter 3: Wrong

When I decide something, I usually begin immediately to plan on what to do. I never dawdle; it has never been my style. I stayed low, but I planned. I plotted. I schemed. Somehow, I would have that titian haired beauty by my side, in my home, in my life and _in my bed_. For I dreamt. Of her. I could imagine her. Her skin would be pale, and smooth. Soft as silk to the touch, the only thing softer would be the cool fire of her hair. I could taste the honey of her lips, could feel the curve of her breast in the palm of my hand. I spent countless of sleepless nights in my lonely bed, tossing and turning against the cool silk of my sheets, unable to get the images of the two of us from my mind. My treacherous mind. My mind that would conjure up images of us joined as we should be, as God had made us to be. Imagining the heat of her honeyed core around me. Imagining the ambrosia of her on my tongue. Then I would stop myself. Not yet, no imaginings. I would not settle for that, I would bide my time until I could have what I so desired... and that time would be soon. Very soon.

Draco was leaving; he had opened a restaurant in London that was fastly becoming very popular. He was opening a night club with that friend of his from school, the Zabini heiress. I couldn't really remember her name... but it reminded me of fire, for some reason. Fire, like Virginia.... But no. No thoughts of her just yet. Fire... Inferno. No, that wasn't it. Blaze. Close. Blaise. That was it. Blaise Zabini. She had been a pretty girl. Slim, dark haired and dark skinned like her Italian descendents. Lush mouth, even then and mysterious dark eyes. I could see a tightness in Virginia and I knew she didn't like the two of them together. Alone. Even for four days. The day he had to leave, Draco kissed Virginia tenderly and told her not to worry.

"How can I not worry?" her eyes had been large and vulnerable. I had to check the urge to hold her. It was not very Malfoy of me to do so. I realised, with some shock, that I had gone soft. Turned like... Draco. But Draco's expression wasn't of tender loving, this time. There was an impatience to the set of his countenance, a tightness to his mouth.

"Blaise is a friend of mine, Ginny. You know that. We've been friends since Hogwarts; she's one of my closest friends."

"And that's the trouble," she said, softly. Draco let out and impatient breath.

"I don't have time for this, Ginny. You have to trust me. I am not going to cheat on you with Blaise. Don't you trust me?"

"Have you ever given me the reason to?"

Immediately after she said it, her eyes widened with shock, but although her face had gone sheet white, she remained stubborn, looking him down. Draco became completely still and I knew that he was close to losing that precious control of his.

"I'll ignore you said that," he replied, icily. "I'm going to attend to business in London. I'm sure father will keep you..._ occupied_." With a curt nod at the two of us, he apparated away. Ginny collapsed on the floor and started sobbing and all I could do was stand and watch as tears rolled down her cheeks and her chest heaved from her powerful sobs. Finally, I walked over to her, reaching into the pocket of my tailored robes. I knelt in front of her, taking out a linen handkerchief and gently wiping away the trails of tears from her cheeks. Her sobs had called to little sniffles, by then, so when I finished cleaning her up, I silently handed the handkerchief over to her. She accepted it with a small sniff and delicately blew her nose. Her gaze dropped to her lap, where she began twisting the material between her fingers.

"I don't trust her."

"But you do trust him?" I'd asked her, gently. She nodded. Then she shook her head. Then she nodded. Finally, she let out a frustrated cry.

"I don't know! Before... before I would say yes, without a doubt. But now... he's acting strange. He's acting so strange. He's so jealous and... possessive and I don't know what's wrong with him. I don't know what I've done that's made him this way. He looks at me and I know that he loves me, but then he looks like I'm below him... sometimes he looks at me and I wish I could crawl under a rock and hide." She looked up and met his gaze. "It never used to be like this, you know. There never used to be fights. At least, not until you came back."

"Are you blaming this on me?"

"Partly, I think." She replied, but her voice had dropped and gone husky. I looked at her and suddenly realised how close we were. I was on my knees, now, in front of her. So close that our knees brushed and I imagined that I could feel her breath against my skin. "He gets so jealous of you, sometimes."

"Does he have a reason to be?" I asked, and my voice had gone low as well. A husky purr. Her eyes flew to mine, then her lids lowered and she was looking at me through her lashes, a temptress with a watery smile and a reddened nose, and I could take her right then and there on the floor. She didn't answer for a long time and I almost held my breath, my heart running a marathon in my chest. Finally, she tilted her head and when she spoke, her tone was solemn.

"He might."

And then suddenly she was close, suddenly she was there. Suddenly I could touch her. Suddenly her breath on my skin was real, instead of my imagination. Suddenly.... Suddenly we were kissing and her arms were on my shoulders and I pulled her body against me as I deepened the kiss further.

I don't know who broke from that kiss first, but all I knew was that as suddenly as it had begun, it had also ended. Ginny looked up at me, a scared look in her eyes and I tried to portray with my eyes that I meant her no harm, that although I didn't mean for that to happen, that I didn't regret it. How could I have regretted it? Even now the feel of her silken lips burned itself into my memory. She stood up abruptly and made stammering excuses before she fled and I was powerless to stop her. I just sat on my hunches in the middle of the hall, lost and for once, vulnerable.

Draco was going to be gone for four days. Four days. It was hard, trying to keep myself from seducing and ravishing the fair Virginia, but now that I've tasted her, I wanted her with a passion stronger than any before. It almost frightened me, this need. And I hated to be frightened. I had never felt this way with Narcissa, for with her it had always seemed so right, so peaceful. Like I'd found my other half. With Virginia I found passion, fire. We had not done anything remotely sexual since that kiss, but everything about her burnt me, burnt me into a crisp. I don't know how I would stand it, how I could stand it, how I _did_ stand it. All I know is that it was the most wonderful and yet disturbing experience in my life.

Standing up, I'd unconsciously began to dust off my robes. Years of breeding. I stilled my movements and frowned, was this the right action? I know it was a trivial matter, just brushing off lint and dirt from my tailored robes, something most would have done. But suddenly that small, little thing seemed of great import. It felt like a matter of life and death. Finally, though, breeding won and I shrugged off the strange urge. In a distant part of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder where I would have gone with that thought.

Dinner was an awkward affair. Virginia had come down to join me and we ate in the formal dining room, the chandelier casting eerie shadows along with the light in the warm, wood panelled room. The table had been set for two; I sat at the head and Virginia at my left hand. Usually, Draco would sit at my right and his absence glared at us like an open wound. We ate quietly, manners put on show, albeit a brilliant one. Row among row of cutlery on either side of fine china and crystal glasses filled with the finest blood red wine available in my cellar. The chef had outdone himself and I made a note of it, calling over Higgs, the main House Elf that acted as Butler to present the Chef with my thanks. Then I sprawled elegantly backed in my chair, surveying Virginia.

She looked lovely, that night. She wore a deep green silk sheath dress that brought out the milky white of her skin and complemented the red of her hair, brilliantly. She wore white gold and emeralds around her throat and wrists and on her ears, her hair pulled up in some impossibly elegant design. She looked wonderful in Slytherin colours; I didn't think I appreciated it enough before. But I appreciated it fully as I watched her pick up her glass and take a sip of the full bodied wine. I spoke in a low tone and felt a frisson of pleasure as I saw the startled look on her face.

"I hope the wine is to your liking."

"Y.yes. It's wonderful."

"Higgs told me it's the best I have in my cellar."

"Then it must truly be wonderful, as you have a great collection," she murmured, politely. I inclined my head, accepted the praise. We were quiet again, I still watching her and she trying valiantly to turn away from my gaze. Finally, I dropped all civility and asked her what I wanted to know, what I truly wanted to know. Without any veils of pretence.

"Why did you run?"

"I... I beg your pardon?" she looked startled and just short of afraid. I shook my head and leaned forward.

"You heard me perfectly well, my sweet. I asked you why you ran, today. Most would take your reaction to mean that they have no...charms."

"I... I wouldn't like you to think that," she said softly, eyes downcast. Then she looked up and her eyes were neutral, as was her tone. "You know why I ran."

"Perhaps," I shrugged elegantly with one shoulder. "Perhaps. But I would still like to hear it from your own mouth."

"I can't do this to Draco, Lucius. You know that. By Goddess, you of all people should know that," she said and this time, her tone wasn't completely neutral. Emotion shook that voice and the hand that went for her wine glass. The sip of wine was larger than the ones she had taken before and I knew she was hoping the alcohol would help her through this. But I was not through with her, yet.

"You don't love him anymore," I said softly, watching her reaction. I wasn't disappointed. She jerked as if I had slapped her, her eyes going large and luminous.

"I... I..."

"Won't you even deny it?"

"I am!" she finally managed to say and her voice was filled with heat. "How dare you. How dare you assume that just because I let one moment of weakness rule me that I do not love your son. I love him no less, no less at all. He is the one who rules my heart, he is the one who holds it in the palm of his hand and has the ability to crush it at his will. Him. Don't you dare accuse me of not loving him." She looked at me with scorn. "At least I can say that much, I am not too sure you could say the same."

"I love my son, Ms. Weasley," I said, coolly. I felt anger boiling inside me at her comments. Anger and... jealousy. Jealousy of my own son. By Circe, she wasn't far off, wasn't far off at all. And that was what stung the most. I felt my body tighten with tension as we faced each other off. I offered her a cold smile, one I knew was effective. One I'd had to learn to use and use well. "If you love him so dearly, why allow a moment of weakness at all? Why the kiss, Ms. Weasley? Why the cheating? Why go behind my son's back and _kissing his own **father**_?"

Ginny's eyes were large in her now too pale face as she looked at me with some horror, some disgust and some anger. "You are an asshole, Mr. Malfoy. You are a manipulative asshole."

"I'm glad we got that sorted out," I said dryly, picking up my glass. The next thing I knew, I was drenched, my hair and clothes stained with the ruby liquid and the sound of heels clacking against marble filled my head. I sighed, closed my eyes. Tonight had not gone the way I had wanted it to, the way I expected it to. To be truthful, I did not know what to expect, but this... this was too much. But it was done. I don't know if we could patch things up between us. That night, I just did not know. So I cleaned myself with a simple spell and retired to my private study with a bottle of firewhisky. Locked in with my thoughts, my rampant emotions and my fantasies. Alone.

We didn't speak, not for the rest of the day or the next. She ordered to have her food taken to her room and spent her time there as well, with only a house elf as company. When I asked Higgs what she was doing, he replied that she was just... sitting on the bed, or gazing out the window. While I respected her wish to stay away from me, while I _understood_ her need to stay away from me, I did not like the fact that she kept herself solitary, kept herself away. I tried to work, tried to drown my sorrows in Firewhisky, went to my wife's grave, _anything_ that would keep my mind off of _her_. But it didn't work and she kept on creeping into my thoughts at the most inopportune moments. I had still tried to escape, though, still tried to run away from... from the inevitable, I suppose. Because it was inevitable, a confrontation. We had to have one soon and I knew it just as well as any other person might. I just... needed time to prepare myself, I suppose.

I kneeled on the damp grass by my wife's grave and stared at the carvings on the otherwise smooth marble. I laid a half opened black rose on her grave and a smooth red pebble on the white gravestone. There were three other similar pebbles on the grave stone itself, a small pile of it by one side, neatly piled, piled like a small mountain of stone... I'd done that, the careful gathering. The piling. The colours were brilliant, I also charmed the smooth stones into some bright colour. Narcissa used to love them, she kept a bowl in our room filled with the little pebbles I had collected for her and charmed. The bowl was still there, but I didn't touch them, like I didn't touch most of her things. I charmed fresh pebbles that I painstakingly found and cleaned beforehand. This time was no different, and I bore the evidence of this by the dirt on my otherwise clean hands, dirt that even then felt like it was clinging to my skin, unable to get out. I had fought the urge to clean them, for some reason. Usually, I would not do such a thing, but somehow...

"Do you blame me?" I asked quietly, at her grave. My eyes were boring into her name. "Do you hate me for what I feel, what I've done? I don't know what to think, Cissa. You were always my grounding and life was a little... lost without you. And then she was just there, and she wasn't like you. It was easy, for me. So easy. Too easy. I don't want to..." I shook my head, feeling... feeling lost. Vulnerable. Me, the Malfoy Lord, the man with his arrogance and self-importance. I was vulnerable, without my wife. Narcissa was silent strength, a well feeding me sanity, but she was gone. I didn't have her grounding, didn't have her there to tell me that all would be well. She was not there to tell me to stop thinking about Ginevra... although I do not know if I ever would have, had she not died.

"I watch her, you know. All the time. And I have rather... untoward thoughts about her. I dream of touching her at night, Cissa and while it feels wonderful, it also feels so wrong, to do that to you. I loved you, and I don't think I told you that enough." I sighed, laid a hand on the top of the gravestone. "Draco's joined the Potter boy. I'm glad he didn't follow Voldemort. I suppose it was _your_ doing, Cissa. Really, dear," I chastised her gently, almost indulgently. "You know I don't approve of you manipulating our son like that. Especially when I'm not there to witness it for myself."

I couldn't help but chuckle, and remember the times when she used to do so, wrapping the impetuous boy around her little finger. Draco hated it, but he adored his mother. Cissa was just like that, she inspired adoration in her men. I adored her, as had her father and his father before him. Cissa made everyone love her, in awe of her. I never had that gift, most either feared me or hated me. None loved or even _liked_ me. I think it must have hurt her, sometimes. She could not grasp why that was, could not grasp that not everyone was as generous as she was, could not grasp that not everyone had her gift, her way with people. Cissa was Slytherin, but she was a woman and a wonderful one at that. I loved my wife, loved her dearly. And I didn't know how long I would have lasted all these years without her by my side and I wonder how I should continue to do so without her.

"I miss you, Cissa," I whispered. "I'm not doing things right, I don't think. Salazar, I know that I'm not doing things right. I'm betraying our son with his own fiancée. You would never approve, dear. I know that. But I can't help myself. I just.. can't. Do you blame me, Cissa?" I looked pleadingly at her gravestone, then sighed. My wife wouldn't be able to answer me, she was dead. Dead and cold in her grave, while I was kicking my heels in Azkaban. Dead. And I hadn't even been there. I felt my jaw tightened and wished for a moment that Bella Lestrange was still alive and that I could kill her myself... _with my bare hands_. Still. I will not allow myself to wallow in dark thoughts. There was nothing that I could do, for the moment, or at all. Not to avenge my wife. My son had done that already, and his mother's murderer was now lying in a grave of her own.

I sighed again, let my jaw relax ever so slightly, then felt my shoulders slump in defeat. Ever in defeat. I, Lucius Malfoy, defeated. The great, fallen. Fallen down and down and down in the endless black hole that has become my life. I looked up from Narcissa's grave and saw the manor in front of me. I smiled bitterly as I noticed red glinting behind clear glass and knew that she was watching. The spot of flame, of light, in that dark hole. With that thought. I turned back to Narcissa's grave, pressed a kiss to my fingertips and laid it on her gravestone. I murmured our wedding vows.

"In sickness and in health

In darkness and in light

In pain and in health

In love and in hate

I will stay by your side, with you in my thoughts

I give you, my love, me,

Till death do us part."

With that said, I got up, again a creature of habit, brushed my robes of whatever evidence I had been to her grave, then walked away. Walked away from my wife and from our vows and I walked, walked, walked further away. I looked up and met red and glass and smiled faintly. _Till death do us part, Cissa. Till death do us part._ And we have parted, and we have lived, and died, and loved, and hurt together. And I have fulfilled my vows to the extent of that time. Now, my love has reminded me, I am free to move on. Free to get what I want. If only it just didn't feel so wrong.


	4. Guilty Release

Title: 10th Muse

Author: Calex

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, the character belongs to JK Rowling, who thought of them. I own merely the plot

Characters: Lucius, Ginny, Draco, mentioning of Blaise Zabini

Summary: ". _Malfoy's share._ We share all our glories and our downfalls. Mostly, we share our spoils and somehow, on that bright Autumn late afternoon, much brighter than usual for England, I realised that she was not a prize. That she was real."

Chapter 4: Guilty Release

I bade Higgs to ask the young Miss Weasley if she would like to spend her evening having supper with me. I was... pleased that she had answered in the affirmative and set out tonight as a... peace offering of sorts. The usual care had been taken care of, along with some... extras. Instead of sitting in the dining room as usual, I had ordered a table to be arranged in the rose gardens, under the moonlight. Candles and will o' the wisps lit the garden with a faint, otherworldly glow. Now, to explain the setting of the scene, I suppose I should strive to describe how the garden stood.

The garden is not a large one, the smallest, in fact, of the 7 gardens of the manor, not including the inner courtyard inside the manor itself. There are four main patches of rose bushes: one marking the north, one marking the south, the west, the east. Each group had it's own brand of colour, the north was the pale pink rose, the south, the red. White to the east and black to the west. There were pathways around each patch, but the middle of the garden was bare, except for a circlet of trees, old trees that cried of age and things seen in lives before mine. The branches grew out so that it formed a thin dome made of green leaves, and it was under this very dome that the table was laid, a stiff, white linen tablecloth on top of it, heavy with silver cutlery, crystal wine glasses and the finest china plates in the manor. The table in itself was wrought metal with a glass top, but the wrought metal was dark with flickers of green paint, like moulded rust, I've always thought. Narcissa likes the effect, though, and I've never judged her tastes. The chairs matched the table, only Narcissa had bought cushions of dark green with silver embroidery of a snake for the seat of the chairs. I always thought they amused her, somewhat.

Anyway, the plates were bare, and it was left that way. I'd had it charmed so that any food she so desired would appear. Less messy and also makes a big impact, I do try to be as clean as possible. I'd dressed up, this time not in my traditional tailored wizarding robes, but in immaculate muggle clothes. I wore a dark blue shirt and black slacks along with black leather loafers and my hair had grown just enough that it brushed against my collar, just gently. I waited for her, at the chair that faced the way where she would appear from, a glass of wine already in my hand. I had been sitting, sipping, when I first saw her and I was glad that I had taken my swallow, for it would most certainly have logged in my throat and choked me. She was a _vision_, a vision in her black dress. It had a low, V neckline and cinched tight over her waist and skimmed her breasts and hips gently, the hem just brushing at the ground as she walked. Black silk covered shoes peeped out occasionally as she walked, and pearls adored her ears, neck and wrists. Her hair cascaded in bloody curls down her back and she walked towards me, a vision of darkness, like death disguised as an angel, with her face completely and utterly blank and careful. I stood, as soon as I saw her and I could not help the heat that had infused itself into my gaze as I hungrily looked upon her figure. I did not know if I could go through this night with my sanity, with my control intact.

"Ginny," I purred. "How glad I am to see that you've decided to accept my offer."

"I was getting hungry."

"Come now," I said, mouth just twisted slightly in a charming smile. I could not help myself, it was as if my charm poured out of me, anything that would get my goddess of darkness to be placated. "No need for that. I have a mind to think of this as a...peace offering of sorts."

"I'd wondered why supper was served out here instead of inside," she said, neutrally. Ah, she was resisting. This was going to be... fun. I smiled charmingly once more.

"I thought you would appreciate the view and the flowers. I'm told you like white roses...?" I made it a question, and smiled as she nodded silently. "Ah. Well, this gift should be in your favour, then."

"A gift, Lucius?" her mouth twisted in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're certainly trying hard to charm me tonight, sir."

"Come, come," I laughed. "None of that. Please, it's merely a gift, is it now. You'll accept it, I'm sure. It's not overtly extravagant."

"As I'm sure you'd made sure of," she murmured, then inclined her head as she accepted my offer of a bouquet of white roses. "They are beautiful, although I am sure that you were aware of that fact beforehand."

I tsked as I pulled out a chair for her to sit upon, then pulled out another chair for myself. "So cynical at such a young age, Ginevra..." I purred and smiled at her, one that I knew she had never seen before, that would hopefully whet her curiosity enough that she would stay the whole meal. I'd perfected many facial expressions, one had to, being the Malfoy heir and also a Slytherin. There's an appropriate expression for every circumstance and for this I chose a smile I did not usually use. A strange, half smile, just the twist of my lips and a hint of amusement in my eyes. It must have worked, for she tipped her head to the side with a small frown now marring her face. Then she shrugged.

"Did I ever have any choice in the matter of cynicism, Lucius? You helped me in that in my first year at Hogwarts," she said quietly and I saw the haunted look in her eyes. It was strange... I almost found myself to be flinching. But Malfoys do _not_ flinch, so neither will I. However, I so very nearly did, and did want to. Her tone had been neutral, unaccusatory, and that was what, perhaps, had made it work so very well.

"I was obeying orders," I said stiffly, leaning against the back of my chair and thus taking me further away from her. I could not help it, but I sensed that my expression had become closed off, that I was struggling to maintain an aloof presence. She merely shrugged and elegantly picked up her wine glass, taking a delicate sip of the ruby red liquid.

"I know. Tom can be very... persuasive."

There was that haunted look on her face and I, for one, noticed something infinitely strange in there. It was not the kind of haunted look one gets if one has seen eternal carnage and regrets it. No, it was the kind of look that a lover wears when he or she is remembering a lost one. Now, _that_ was a curious turn of affairs.

"Tom?" I asked, quietly. Tried to make her talk more of this fascinating development. She nodded absentmindedly as she stared into her wine, fingers gently playing with the slim glass stem.

"Riddle. He wasn't Voldemort, not yet. He was still Tom." She shook her head, then glanced up wryly. "You are not a stupid man, Mr. Malfoy."

"No, I'm not," I agreed quietly and she met my eyes. She did not try to glance away, just met my gaze and let me see through them, into them. I swore silently under my breath, my eyes widening. "Great_ Salazar._"

"Tell the world," she said, laughing humourlessly. "The Minister of Magic's daughter used to be in love with the spirit of the young Dark Lord." She laughed again. "Oh, the wizarding press will have a field day, not to mention that it would ruin my father's career once and for all." She looked up and her eyes had gone blank, hard. "Although that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing for you, will it, Lucius?"

"I am not completely heartless," I said, harshly. Perhaps because she had offended my sensibilities... although it was most likely a ploy to regain my composure. I took a deep breath, then frowned. "When, _why_?"

"He wasn't always like what he was, Lucius," she said, quietly. "He used to be... beautiful. He had great plans, but was just slightly foolish in their execution. He was like the muggle Hitler, I supposed." She laughed, again. And I was starting to be afraid of that laugh, for it held in it hints of madness and sorrow. The madness I feared, the sorrow I feared even more, for the sorrow was directed towards Voldemort. "He used to bring me into his little world of spirits, into his room at Hogwarts. We would sit in front of the fire and we would speak of... many things. He used to flatter me, dreadfully," and this time when she laughed, it was genuine but tinged again with sadness. "He made me love him. He had a wonderful voice and he was ever so intense, ever so compelling. And he was ever so good looking. I was 11, Lucius," she whispered and her gaze met mine, again. "I was 11 and he made me fall in love with him. His attention turned my head; I was starved of it for so long. I have... had 6 brothers. Despite being the youngest, and also the only girl, I was still only one of 7. Then, the brother I was closest too in both age and relationship, went to Hogwarts and... and it seemed as though I was completely forgotten. He had others, this time. Friends. And since one of them was the great Harry Potter, of course I was forgotten once again. I had nothing to them, nothing to Harry's fame and Hermione's brains. Nothing. I was left alone, told to leave, to butt out of their conversations and I was ever so _alone_. He used my weakness against me and I didn't even hate him for it, because he was the only one I had. I knew what he was doing, knew what was happening yet I was powerless to stop it, didn't want to stop it." Here she closed her eyes; here she turned her face away.

"What happened?" I asked, quietly. There was more. Although most would assume it was the end, I knew that she was holding something back. I wanted to know, needed to know. Needed to know how my angel was tainted so very darkly. She seemed reluctant to speak, but finally she did and when she did... when she did her voice was low, ashamed.

"Towards the end, in the Chamber of Secrets... I lay on the cold stone floor and I was almost dead. Almost dead and yet I still loved him. Still loved him even though he nearly killed me. And when Harry destroyed him..." she closed her eyes again, breathing harshly. "When Harry killed him, I had to turn away because if I didn't, I was afraid Harry could see my anger, my pain. Could see that it was not directed towards Tom, but towards _him_. I wanted to _kill_ him for destroying the man I loved, I wanted to pick up that sword of Gryffindor of his and run him through with it. No one knew because no one paid any attention... but that was truly when I stopped caring at all for the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Killed-The-Dark-Lord."

"When Voldemort was killed in the Final Battle?" I had to ask. She smiled, sadly.

"That wasn't Tom, that was Voldemort. Age had distorted him, made him an evil thing. That boy with all his idealism was gone. I always... I couldn't help but wonder what Tom would have thought of himself as Voldemort."

"He built himself as that... thing," I said, my voice laden with disgust. She smiled at me sadly, shook her head.

"People change, Lucius. You should know that. Think of yourself when you were 17. Did you see your life as it turned out to be?"

"I was naïve," I said, harshly. Ginny nodded, surprising me.

"Time changed that," she said, quietly. "Like it changes everything. Tom was naïve, as was Voldemort, only at a more disruptive way," she smiled, wryly. "Tom wasn't Voldemort, as Voldemort was Tom. Tom hadn't become him, yet. I loved the boy, not the man he became. I'm not saying that it was easy to see him fall, just... easier." She looked up and that haunted look was back. "Let me tell you a little secret."

"What is it?" I asked, eager to know more, but striving not to sound thus. I did not want to put her off, I was discovering more about this woman sitting opposite me than I thought was possible, more, perhaps, than most knew. That thought, while niggled at my subconscious as seeming strange, excited me.

"Harry wasn't the one to have killed him."

Of all the things I had expected her to say, this was not it. I have to admit to having gaped at the revelation, _gaped_. Me, a Malfoy. My eyes widened and I do have to admit to a lowering of my jaw as well.

"Close your mouth, Lucius," she drawled. "It's inviting flies in."

I snapped my mouth closed, but my eyes still had to look of abject shock on it. Of all the things... really. No, not this. Never this. I could not even grasp the concept of what she was saying, of what she had said. Potter, not have killed Voldemort? But how, what, why... or rather, _who_?

"No one saw the final battle between the boy-who-lived and he-who-must-not-be-named," her lips twisted. "No one, that is, but the victim. The last victim taken as a goad to the boy wonder. That is to say, me."

"Potter _lied_?" I asked, my voice awed with what this meant, what this entailed. She nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "But why? Why did Saint Potter lie?"

"Oh, he didn't want to. It took a great deal of convincing on my part to make him lie," she said, cynically. "In the end, he agreed. You see, the war would've gone quite a different path had something not happened."

"And that something being...?" I asked, voice quiet. She shrugged.

"I've said before that while Tom was never Voldemort, Voldemort was Tom. His only mistake was his arrogance, his belief that he was better than an 18 year old boy. Oh he was; he just underestimated a 17 year old girl who used to love him."

"You?" my voice had gone husky, hoarse with disbelief. Of all the things... really. I could not picture it, could not see it. This vision who was sipping on her wine ever so delicately. I could not picture her as being the lodestone, the Achilles heel of the Dark Lord.

"Me. You see, to my gratification, Tom seemed to have loved me as I loved him," she laughed, humourlessly. "Figure that. The one thing that would have made me so happy. He promised me the world, did Voldemort. He had Harry on his knees, bleeding and beaten. He said some things that no one knew, that no one should have known. He flaunted our..._affaire_ in front of Harry and you should have seen his face when he discovered that that 11 year old girl he had saved in the Chamber of Secrets didn't do it because she was possessed, but because she was in love. And also that that very 11 year old girl had given herself, not only her soul but her body, to the 18 year old image of the Dark Lord."

Her words rang in my head like the clearest bell in an eternity of empty space. I heard the words, but I was not sure if my brain processed any of the information that it received. I know for a fact that I felt as though... as though I was hit. Dear Circe, the girl... had not been an innocent when she was 11 years old... and it was my fault. My fault that she had fallen under the hands of Tom Riddle, my fault that she grew to fall in love with him and my fault, ironically, that the Dark Lord had fallen. Irony indeed.

"He didn't think I'd refuse him when he was offering me the world," she said, and I realised that she was still speaking, that in my moment of lost reception I had missed her words. "I have to admit that it was... tempting, to say the least. I would have had anything, everything. He offered it to me and I was to be by his side. I almost agreed, I almost weakened. Then I looked up." Her eyes grew shiny, like she had unshed tears. "How easy to listen to the voice and think it was Tom. They sound so alike... I think it took me to look up and see him to realise that it was not my Tom, that it was Voldemort. Voldemort might have been Tom, but Tom was never Voldemort and it was Tom that I had loved. Tom. It was that thought that had allowed me to smile sweetly at him, agree, and then kill him with a softly uttered _Avada Kedavra _when he had turned his back to me to utter the same to Harry."

"Ginny..." I said and I was at a loss for words. What could I say, after all, to that confession? It was an unexpected turn of events that I had not foreseen. I felt helpless, lost. I looked upon her face and I saw that hint of darkness in her. She was no angel, this girl. Or else if she was, she had fallen, fallen and broken those wings of hers. She was as tainted and as ugly as the rest of us, perhaps even more. Maybe more. There was still something about her that I still sought to figure out. Despite her tale of her darkness, I could not help but notice her seeming... purity. If she was not white, then she was still cream. Pale. Not like us, like Draco and myself.

"I'm not pure, Lucius," she said, hoarsely. "Not as pure as you or Draco thought or want to believe. I am tainted and I'm ugly and I am faulted. Look at me and see me, not the person you want to see me as. I am so _tired_. Tired of pretending, tired of trying to be who I am not."

"Then stop pretending," I said, standing up, walking towards her. "Stop pretending." She looked up at me as I stopped, my thighs touching the cool metal of the chair.

"I don't think I can," she said. And I leant down, I leant down and I pushed the table away so I could step in front of her, placing a hand on either side of her arm rest. I leant down until I could look at her in the eye.

"Don't hide," I said, harshly. "Look at me and don't hide anymore. I am not my son, Ginevra. I can handle who you are."

"Can you?" she asked, softly. "Can you really?"

My only answer to that was to lean down further, to crowd in further until our mouths were a breath away from each other. It took me all my strength, but I stopped myself from closing that distance. "Stop me, Ginevra. Stop me before we both do something we regret."

"I..." she closed her eyes, but I could still see the struggle she was going through. "I don't think I can."

"Then may the gods save us," I said hoarsely as I closed the distance and our lips finally met. There was that fire that there was the first time. I felt as though I was going to be consumed by it, I felt as though rightly, my body should be turned to ash from the heat. Oh, such heat. It was only our mouths, only our mouths that meshed together wetly, urgently, hungrily. My hands gripped the metal armrest until my knuckles were nearly translucent and I held my body still, away from hers. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, because all I wanted in that moment was to press myself into her softness, to meld myself into her, because I needed to get as close to her as I possibly could, despite the fact that I doubted anything would be close enough. I needed the feel of her flesh against mine, in mine, around mine, but I held back, held away and that effort felt as though it nearly killed me. My eyes were still open, wide open, staring into her face and ardently tracing her features with my eyes, as though I could memorise it, despite it having been memorised long before in my mind.

When we broke apart, I saw her eyes slowly flutter open and saw that the heat infused within mine was mirrored in hers. I stepped away from the chair and held out my hand. I was afraid that she would ignore me, that she would run like she had run before, but although she hesitated briefly, she grasped my hand and allowed me to help her up. We walked towards the manor, our hands still grasped together and our eyes locked. I took her to my room and locked the door with a simple charm. I walked over to her and only realised, when she was right in front of me, how very small she seemed next to me. I pulled her against my body and she tipped her head back, lips swollen and lightly parted and it was the only invitation that I needed before I let my mouth fall back onto hers.

The kiss, when it came, was slow, but it quickly got hungrier for we were expressing weeks of repression. Soon enough, she had unbuttoned my shirt and I helped her slip it off. She gently bit the hollow between my collarbones and I sucked in a breath. Her dainty hands traced the wide expense of my chest and then lowered to brush against the blond trail on my stomach that disappeared into my trousers. She looked up at me, biting her lip, and lust in her eyes and there was nothing that she would have asked for that I wouldn't give at that moment other than if she asked for us to stop. My hands moved restlessly over her body, tracing the swell of her hips and the indentation of her small waist. With practiced ease, I undid the hooks of her dress and let go of her and let the dress fall to the fall in a hiss of silk until she stood before me naked, a goddess of milky skin and blood red hair.

Together, the two of us fell onto the bed.

Like our first kiss in the room, it began slow, teasing, almost. Then gradually, it became faster, harder, wilder. She had her head tipped back, crying out and breathing raggedly. Her nails scoured my back and I felt the sting of it on more than one occasion. I felt warm, thick liquid slide down the expanse of my back and I bit down at her shoulder, hard. She let out a cry of pain/pleasure and I licked at the blood that welled up from the wound, as I had on the others. So close. So very close. Then the two of us tumbled down that crest.

We found ourselves breathing raggedly, foreheads pressed together, bodies slick with sweat and blood. We were still joined, though I was limp inside of her. Soon, when I had caught some of my breath, I rolled away from her, letting her breathe easier. We lay on the bed on our backs, the only sounds in the silent room was our ragged breathing and then suddenly she laughed and although it should not have been a laughing situation, I laughed with her. The two of us laughed and laughed and laughed until suddenly we weren't laughing anymore but crying. Crying for lost innocence, crying for lost time, crying for pain, for loss, for discovery... and for my son. We clung to each other on that bed, after sharing our bodies in what had been an earth shattering experience for me, and we cried for the pain that we were going to cause to the person that we both loved..._ Draco._ He was never going to forgive us, either of us.

* * *

notes: this chapter is very much NC-17 in reality. I'd had to tone this down, severely. Anyone who wants the NC-17 version, email me at aida.zahar (at) gmail (dot) com  



	5. Realisation

**Author**: Calex

**Rating**: R

**Genre(s)**: Darkfic/ Future fic/ Angst/ Romance

**Characters**: Lucius Malfoy, Ginevra Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Giuseppe Zabini (OC), Evangeline de Wolf (OC)

**Summary**: "_Malfoy's share._ We share all our glories and our downfalls. Mostly, we share our spoils and somehow, on that bright Autumn late afternoon, much brighter than usual for England, I realised that she was not a prize. That she was real." –_Taken from the text_

_The 10th Muse - Realisation_

The three days we spent together held upon it a dream like quality. The two of us were happy, really happy. We woke up in bed together and would make love, then a House Elf would bring in the food. After that we made love, and would have a shower and make love again. Then we'd spend our day talking or reading or doing anything that caught our fancy... and made love. We would eat supper outside and then go upstairs to make love before falling asleep in each other's arms. One day, Ginny took me to satisfy my curiosity of muggle London and we spent the day watching what muggles called a "movie". It was very strange, it was like a big painting and the paintings would act plays. However... I have to admit to having enjoyed them, at least, with her. We watched a few classics, movies by a man called Bogart, Sinatra, Audrey Hepburn, James Dean... She brought me to a jazz club in a place called New Orleans in America. Then came the day for Draco to come back. I awoke, limbs entwined with Ginevra's and I felt sadness, the like which I had never experienced before engulfing me. I wrapped my arms more securely around her, placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head and was content to just hold her in my arms. Peace... I had never known such peace as she had elicited in me. In Azkaban, Cissa was my source of peace. After her death... Ginny was a source of passion, but she had always brought with her something that was akin to peace.

I tightened my hold on her, used one hand to alternately cup her face and brush the blood red curls away so I could better see the clean features of the woman I had fallen in love with. Yes.. I suppose I _have_ fallen in love with her. Like I said, it was inevitable, my lust for her and also my... love. I placed another kiss on the top of her head, her forehead, then I gently kissed her closed eyelids. I felt them flutter beneath my lips as she slowly blinked and gazed up at me, warm cinnamon eyes warm and sleepy meeting mine.

"Good morning," she whispered as she lifted her mouth for a kiss. I complied, could do nothing less than comply. Her mouth fitted mine perfectly as my tongue traced the lines of a mouth that was becoming steadfastly familiar. I memorised the dips and falls of her mouth with my tongue, trying to prolong the kiss. Then I traced the seam of her mouth and she opened for me without question. The kiss was long and deep as I twisted her under me. Our hands explored each other, already so familiar with each other's bodies as though we had been lovers for years rather than short, mere days. When I slipped into her again, it was slow, languid. And a comforting caress. We came with soft cries on our lips, of each others names, then we lay quietly once more in each other's arms.

"I don't want to move," Ginny said with a small laugh. She stretched in my arms and I tightened my hold on her waist as I felt her full breasts press against my chest. I laid my mouth on her forehead.

"And I don't think you should... unless you want a repeat of what just happened."

"You're awfully spry for an old man," Ginny teased and I felt my mouth curve on the taut skin of her forehead. I gently swatted at her pale, bare bottom and she gasped, looking up to mock-glare at me.

"Who are you calling old man, little girl?"

"Who're you calling little girl?" she nipped at my bottom lip and soothed the slight sting with a sensuous swipe of her tongue. She snuggled in my arms again, resting her head on the crook of my neck. I heard her inhaling and I laughed.

"What on earth are you doing, child?"

"You smell good," she said, her words muffled by my skin. I felt a droll smile curve my lips. As I rested my cheek on the top of her head.

"I rather hope that I don't smell bad."

"Oh, you know what I mean," she said, turning her cheek to rest on my shoulder. She let out a contented sigh. "I don't want this to ever end." I felt the words put a... damper on things, so to speak. Her words reminded me that we were living on borrowed time, that she wasn't truly mine, but my son's. I did not know what we were to do, did not know what course of action she would take and somehow it bothered me that she did not share it. I needed to know, needed it. Like I needed her. I wanted to know if she would hold this experience to heart, as I found myself to. I wanted to know if she would choose to stay with me, the father, or Draco... my son.

I shifted a bit, raised myself up to prop against the pillows and pulled her up with me. She lifted her head and shot me a look of confusion. I kissed her forehead and reluctantly let go of her. I saw her pull the sheets up to cover her bare breasts as she had realised that this would be... serious. A serious conversation. Yes. Serious. I needed to realise that, needed to think upon that. I needed for us to talk about what would happen, about... us.

"What is it, Lucius?"

Salazar, she sounded so worried. So... _apprehensive_. It was everything I could do not to hold her and reassure her that everything was fine. I wanted to know, needed to know. She had to make a choice, for with my feelings, I don't think I could ever share her with anyone...my son especially. I've always been protective, always been greedy, always been possessive... but this has nothing to do with all that. It was simply that I would not be able to live, knowing that some other man touched her as I did. I sighed as I thought this, turned my head away and let the strands of hair that had grown out long enough to brush my eyes fall forwards.

"Who is it, Ginny?" I asked, finally, my voice low and quiet. She froze and her body tensed. She looked at me carefully, seemingly to decipher my thoughts. I don't know why, but that action hurt me, hurt me a hell of a lot more then if she had said Draco. Or perhaps that is a lie, I do not know if there would possibly be anything worse, anything closer to my very nightmares, than that.

"I don't know what you mean," she said, carefully and in those words I felt that first cut of hurt, like a knife carving out a layer from my heart. I didn't let that show, Slytherin training comes in useful. I looked at her steadily and was... impressed in a detached way when she did not flinch.

"I meant," I said, my voice carefully controlled and monitored for any kind of emotion that I deemed unsuitable for this conversation. I would not have her realise how deep of a hold she has on me, will not let her realise how much her answer meant to me. I knew what she was playing at, but I humoured her. Love, eh? "If you would choose Draco... or me."

"Lucius," Ginny started, not expecting my bluntness, perhaps. I just shrugged. She crawled towards me, all thoughts of modesty gone as the sheet slipped past her breasts and leaving her naked to my gaze to the waist. I flinched when she raised a hand to touch my face and she withdrew the offending body part. She had a look of such hurt on her face. I knew I had no reason to be guilty, but damn all of it, I did anyway! I caught her to me before she could turn away, pulled her body to me and let my mouth crash down on hers. She responded passionately, and the dispassionate part of my brain wondered if this was a welcome distraction, but I squashed that voice down. For now, all that I knew was the beautiful woman in my arms, responding to my touch like a finely tuned instrument. However, it was she that pulled back first, breathless. She held my face in the cusp of her hands and rained soft, gentle kisses on my face. "Lucius, Lucius..." my name became a mantra that fell from her rosy lips like a prayer for in her calling my name, I saw what I wanted to see, I saw what I presumed was my future... her. Me. Our children. I was distracted once again when she caught my mouth in a bruising kiss.

"I love you," I said hoarsely, not telling her be damned! Her body shook and I felt the salty liquid that was her tears on my lips as we kissed. It felt like such a relief, saying those words to her, finally. I had been wanting to do so for such a long time and now that the words were freed, I could not help but laugh and say them again. "I love you." I held her in my arms, laughing and crying as we held each other, kissed away the tears that fell now from both our eyes. I held her close to me, so close that I could feel the beat of her heart against me and probably mine against her. I wanted nothing else but this, nothing else but her, nothing else but this moment. I didn't know... couldn't possibly think... what my life would have been like if she had not... but I will not think about that, now, for her answer was favourable, for what I felt like now, it would be such an insult to think of what might have been.

"Ginevra," I pulled back, to smile at her. "We will get married in Malfoy Grove, married in the place where generations of Malfoys tied themselves to each other. I cannot wait, my love," I smiled softly. "I want to see you round with my child. I want to wake up in the morning to this, to you. To seeing your face in either wakefulness or sleep."

"Lucius..."

"We'll have beautiful children, you and I," I laughed. "A little girl, the first Malfoy to have red hair. But she'll be beautiful because she is ours. And a little boy to take care of her as well? He will be head boy and prefect of Hogwarts, like his family."

"Lucius!"

This time I could not ignore the desperate tone in her voice. I looked over and saw her face... saw the distress on her face and I felt that clawing fear in my stomach, again, felt it tear out my heart and block my throat with it. She pulled away from my arms and shivered, wrapping her hands around her arms and the discreet flash of her diamond ring caught my eye. My mouth twisted, the bitter taste of defeat at that subtle reminder. She had not moved to me out of acceptance, but from regret. For goodbye. I got up abruptly and shrugged on my grey silk robe. I carefully kept my gaze anywhere but on her as I carefully tied the belt of my robe tightly. Then I walked away from that room, walked away from her, walked away from the memories. It was in her room that she had brought us to, always her room. Or a guest room. Or a hotel. Never mine, never that. I never realised how she had imposed those little touches that insured distance on her part. While I had given her everything, _everything_... I felt my mouth tighten at that. I had never let myself become as vulnerable as I had with her and just let everything go. I had forgotten myself, forgotten who I was and who she was. I will not make the same mistake again. As I rounded the corner to my room, I was greeted by the sight of my son. He was looking dishevelled, his tie was loose and he had a smudge of some bright red colour I recall on the person of the Miss Zabini as her trademark colour. He stared at me and I at him, the two of us looked at each other, knowledge of what the other had done evident in our stances and our faces. Finally, I inclined my head and my voice when I spoke had been cold.

"You won, Draco. She's yours. Have your little fiancée... it was what you had wanted all along. I'm glad you had a nice trip."

With that, I strode down the hall towards my own chambers. I pulled the door closed and locked it, manually and also with several locking charms. Then I flicked my wand and let the curtains close. The once bright room fell into darkness and I crossed the room to light a candle. After doing so, I went to my alcohol cupboard and poured myself a tumbler of whisky, neat. I brought my drink with me in front of the fire that I had magically lit and sat, staring into the flames and slowly drinking myself into a stupor.


	6. Hiding, Forgetting, Healing

**Author**: Calex

**Rating**: R

**Genre(s)**: Darkfic/ Future fic/ Angst/ Romance

**Characters**: Lucius Malfoy, Ginevra Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Giuseppe Zabini (OC), Evangeline de Wolf (OC)

**Summary**: "_Malfoy's share._ We share all our glories and our downfalls. Mostly, we share our spoils and somehow, on that bright Autumn late afternoon, much brighter than usual for England, I realised that she was not a prize. That she was real." –_Taken from the text_

_The 10th Muse – Hiding, Forgetting, Healing_

Their screams ring in my mind. I have never heard him raise his voice, not since he was 10, and it was like a shock to hear them. The slam of doors and the tinkle of broken crystal was what was heard the most in our household, the next few days. There were tears, there were accusations and there was pain. I could feel the pain emanating like a live thing from them. I didn't need their pain, I had my own. I stayed in my chambers, or in my private study, but I strove to ignore them, strove to blank down on my own pain with drink. I didn't want to think, couldn't think. Why should I? Why? In those moments, I felt subhuman, I felt disgusting, I felt worthless and undesirable. I didn't shave, didn't clean myself. I was the most unkempt I had been when not in Azkaban and I didn't care. Malfoy idealism, who cared? Who really cared? They were all a group of so-called "gentlemen of value" with high handed notions who probably had their wands shoved so far up their arses that it nearly choked them. But I was just so tired, so bloody tired. I felt suppressed by all of my own _childish _fears, but I could not seem to stop them. I wished that she would just make her own mind, stay or leave because her presence still lingered and it just wouldn't leave me alone. The wounds that she had inflicted upon me still did not heal and the pain... oh the pain was just real, too real. I didn't know if time would ever erase them.

I had given her everything. In our short time together, I had listened to her, I had held her, I had wiped away her tears when she cried and held her when she was fearing. Despite giving up, despite giving my son what he already had... she still had me, everything about me. She had captivated me with her resonating light, but now... now I was bound by the life she left behind. Me. Her face haunts my dreams and her voice.... Dear goddess, her voice was chasing away all the sanity that I still held in me. I had tried, so hard, to tell myself that she was gone and I had to remind myself, daily, hourly, every goddamned minute and second that while she had been there... she had never really given me any part of herself, and that I had been alone all along.

I felt like screaming, like crying, like destroying something. I felt my mind being ravaged by my pain, by my betrayal, by my fear and I knew that the thread of sanity that I still held was slim, that I was going slowly and inexplicably insane. The crash of china and crystal was the crash of my sanity and my world around my ears. I was going mad, slowly mad, mad while I was still sane enough to realise it. I feared this power she had over me, feared it even as I still wanted her, craved her. I did the only thing I could do, I fled. I packed a few of my things and I left for Italy, to the Castello de Malfoy, the Malfoy Castle. I didn't leave a note to my son or to his fiancée, but informed Higgs to forward any messages I might get to Italy. I knew my son would be able to find me if he so wished, but right at that moment, all I wanted to do was to get away, away from him, and mostly to get away from her.

I spent my days familiarising myself with Italy, brushing up on my rusty Italian. At night I went to the opera, had dinner with countless of women that I would finally bring back to the Castello so that I would forget myself in their touches and their bodies. but I could not forget, did not forget. Anything, everything that I did was pointless, everything that I felt paled against what I felt with her. She had ruined me, ruined me for any other woman, to any other touch. I was a broken man, a man who had more money than sensibility in those weeks I was away. The weeks slowly turned to months, but still I wasted away the Malfoy money on drinks, food, women and gambling. Oh, but I have always been a great gambler. I had forgotten the rush I had used to get at gambling. I was good at it, I never lost. Or hardly ever, anyway.

Four months after I came to Italy, I had gone to a gambling club in the north of Florence with a few friends of mine. I had been there for a few hours, and I had slowly but surely accumulated a small fortune from my gambling. Then I heard the voice, heard the words, and my mind went blank.

"_I'm so tired of being here_

_Suppressed by all my childish fears_

_And if you had to leave_

_I wish that you would just leave_

_Cause your presence still lingers here_

_And it won't leave me alone..."_

"Lucius, you're on a roll, my dear man," Roberto Zabini laughed, clapping my shoulder but I ignored him as my eyes sought the source of the song. I found her standing on the stage, her eyes closed as that one spotlight shone straight onto her. her only accompaniment was a man playing the piano, but she held the muggle microphone as her body swayed gently with the song.

"_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase."_

Haven't I thought those words before, myself? Haven't I been through what this woman was describing with her song? I forgot everything and everyone around me as my eyes were locked on the singer, her smooth dark hair unbound to touch her waist, but I could see glimpses of creamy skin where the low back dressed revealed peeking shyly through that hair.

"_When you cried I wiped away all of your tears_

_When you screamed I fought away all of your fears_

_And I held your hand through all of these years _

_And you still had all of me."_

Before I even realised what I was doing, I gave a few murmured apologies and walked towards the stage and the woman. I sat down in the lounge and ordered a whisky, neat, from the waiter in a low, hushed voice, my eyes still on _her_. A house elf came up to me bearing my winnings and I distractedly took it from the elf, giving it a hefty tip in the mean time.

"_You used to captivate me with your resonating light_

_Now I'm bound by the life you left behind_

_Your face still haunts my once pleasant dreams_

_Your voice has chased away all the sanity in me."_

Those precise words, had I not thought of those precise words? Everything that I had been feeling up to that moment was in that song, all the confusion and the pain, everything that _she_ had done to me reflected in the beauty of this woman's voice and the words to a beautiful song. Everything. And then suddenly, with that realisation... I realised that it was nothing. Words, mere words reflected my agony. If that was at all possible... the agony that I myself had believed was impossible to match was described, was shown in _mere words_. I laughed, suddenly, low and quiet so as not to disturb the other patrons, but I laughed. And I rejoiced at the discovery.

"_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase._

_When you cried I wiped away all of your tears_

_When you screamed I fought away all of your fears  
And I held your hand through all of these years_

_And you had all of me."_

I ordered another whisky and I watched as she sang, as that rosebud mouth opened and that powerful and haunting voice poured over her audience. She was beauty, like a goddess sent from up above to release me from the prison of my emotions. Her presence filled the room and I watched how that little black dress of hers skimmed her body like water and knew it was silk. I wondered how it felt to her, against her skin. She wore diamonds on her throat and her ears. I watched her hands and was relieved at the lack of ring. I had too much of married women and affianced girls. Too much. It was time for a change.

"_I tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone_

_But though you're still with me I've been alone all along._

_When you cried I wiped away all of your tears_

_When you screamed I fought away all of your fears_

_I held your hands through all of these years_

_You still have all of me."_

I watched her face as her voice caressed the words and felt the last tug of my heart at the words as the music gradually fell. When she stood under the spotlight, her chest heaving slightly from the emotions of the words she felt even as she had sung them, silence ruled until slowly, one deep clap resounded. Gradually, everyone clapped. There was no cheering, nothing, just the clap of hands around the room, but any more than that would have ruined the beauty of what she had just told. I was startled to realise that I had been the first to clap, but felt rewarded when she smiled at me. She left the stage and I sat down, nursing my drink as I turned her words around and around in my head and wondered at my own feelings towards them. What did I feel? Did I mind? What? What was it that I felt at the realisation that I was not lost after all. Another woman came on stage but while she sang beautifully too, I paid her no mind. My mind was busy with thoughts and I did not notice anything around me, anymore. When someone spoke, it took some moments for the words to be processed within my mind.

"Hello."

I looked up and saw... her. The beauty on the stage. She was still wearing that silk dress, but now her hair was pinned up. She wore the lightest of makeup, if she wore any, just a slight reddening to her lips and cheeks, some kohl to emphasise eyes that I realised were a strange light brown almost like amber. I smiled, slowly, as I saw her and I gestured to the seat in front of me. She took it, graciously, and she watched as the woman sang.

"I've seen you around," she said, quietly. "You don't come to the club for the shows, just for the gambling."

"Usually," I shrugged. "It's what I'm good at."

"Oh, I've been told," she laughed. "The man that's never lost. You're losing the club a lot of money, sir."

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrow as I took a sip of my whisky. I wondered who had sent her to me, and wondered if it had to do with the amount of money I had won. I decided to ask her. "So have you been sent to warn me against any more gambling, then?"

She burst out laughing and it was surprisingly (or not so surprisingly, considering her singing voice) a husky laugh that made a smile slowly creep onto my face as well. She shook her head a stray strand of hair fell to brush her face. She left it there as she smiled at me, amusement lighting those eyes of hers, the amber.

"Hardly. But people talk. My name's Evangeline de Wolf, but most just call me Angel."

"Lucius Malfoy. Lucius." I said, automatically and she stuck out her hand. I took it and pulled it to my lips, just brushing the tips of her fingers against my mouth. She didn't blush, took it as her right and I found myself... liking that. Her straightforwardness. It was refreshing, especially after... especially after Ginevra. I felt my eyes darken as memories swamped me. Her hand curled in mine and I looked up, surprised, seeing the concern on her face.

"You came for the song, Lucius?" she asked, quietly and I nodded. The hand tightened around my for a little bit, then relaxed. She offered me a smile that wasn't pity, wasn't exactly sympathy... but just said that she understood. It was comforting, it was better than if she had gushed out how sorry she was about what I had been through. I tightened my hand around hers for a split second, an encouragement, before I let go.

"You sang beautifully," I said, truthfully. She laughed again, that throaty laugh. She shook her dark head as her eyelids lowered. She looked like a woman who was used to getting compliments, but there was nothing complimentary in my tone, I had stated it as simple truth and I could tell that that pleased her.

"One of the few things I'm good at," she smiled. "One of the very few. What brings you to Italy, Lucius?"

"Running away," I said, quietly. "Forgetting. Now, healing."

"And has it worked?"

"Truthfully?" I smiled. "It didn't for a while. Forgetting, that is. I succeeded in running away. And the healing didn't come, either. Until now, that is."

"Why do I have a feeling you're not talking about my wonderful presence before you?" she asked, dryly, and I laughed.

"Partly, I supposed. Then again, I have a feeling that you're an intelligent woman. Mere words, my dear, capture such depth of emotion that one thinks is bottomless. And that is healing."

"Realisation?"

"That," I inclined my head, accepting it. I realised that we did not speak coherent sentences, merely riddles, but we had spoken more to each other than she or I had to any other with long words strung along to make long sentences. I looked over at her and she at me. She didn't smile and neither did I, but I marked the experience as something important in my life, for it was. "Who was the song by?"

At the question, she laughed. "A muggle group. Evanescence. The words to their songs are wonderful, and we in the magical community overlook the power of words, sometimes. What good is life if there is no way to express it in the form of art, music or words?"

"Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear and vivid and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what subtle magic there was in them! They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lutes. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?" I murmured. "Oscar Wilde, Picture of Dorian Gray."

"A fitting quote," she said, shrewdly. "You have a penchant towards muggle things, Lucius?"

"Not before. Now... I find myself with a taste for them," I laughed. "What are we if not muggles with a gift?"

"Yes," she murmured. "What." I glanced towards her and noticed that she did not have a drink and called over the waiter. I looked towards her and felt my brows lift at her choice of drink. "Vodka martini," she sent a sidelong glance at me as she added the last line with a quirk of her mouth. ""shaken, not stirred"." I felt myself laugh and the waiter looked confused, but we waved him away. I turned to her, humour quirking my mouth.

"James Bond," I accused her. She inclined her head, accepting it. I looked at her and wondered if she would be open to a little preposition. I felt my mouth quirk in a sardonic smile and she looked up, her eyebrow lifted.

"If you'd ask, maybe you'd know," she said, softly. I didn't ask how she knew my thoughts, didn't want to know. I leaned over the table and picked up her ring less hand and traced her elegant fingers with a blunt fingertip. I swept over smooth skin and graceful, tapered length and turned the hand around to trace my finger over the network of lines on her palm, then down to the blue veins visible under the fine white skin of hers. I felt her pulse under my fingertip, and when I looked up to meet her gaze, I found that hers was steady, looking at me.

"I was wondering what your reaction would be to a preposition from me."

Her lips curved. "How delightfully phrased. I think I might just have to keep you." I threw my head back and laughed. The other patrons looked our way at my laughter, but I didn't care as I saw her mouth quirk. I lifted that white hand of hers and placed a kiss on her wrist, over the leaping pulse.

"And I think I might just let you."


	7. State of Being

**Author**: Calex

**Rating**: R

**Genre(s)**: Darkfic/ Future fic/ Angst/ Romance

**Characters**: Lucius Malfoy, Ginevra Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Giuseppe Zabini (OC), Evangeline de Wolf (OC)

**Summary**: "_Malfoy's share._ We share all our glories and our downfalls. Mostly, we share our spoils and somehow, on that bright Autumn late afternoon, much brighter than usual for England, I realised that she was not a prize. That she was real." –_Taken from the text_

_The 10th Muse – State of Being_

Evangeline stayed. She came with me and she stayed there, as I did, for nearly a year. She lived as my mistress in the Castello in leisure. She had everything that she could possibly have hoped for and in turn, I had the company of a beautiful and vivacious woman who did not even _look_ at another man during our time together. Evangeline (for I refused to call her Angel. I had had my taste of the darkness of one, and didn't want another, for Evangeline was tainted as was the rest of us), became the hostess to the parties that I threw and our affair was widely known. We appeared in all the newspapers, for it was a scandal, the Lord Malfoy seen around Italy with his part Italian part French Lounge singer paramour with a taste for muggle culture. No one had seen the like of it, and I wasn't surprised had thought that I had lost my mind, but had I? Had I really? Or have I just awoken to the reality? Am I, instead of insane, _sane_ for once? I felt that I have truly woken up, that I am alive. She made me feel that, with her quiet acceptance, her laughter and her darkness. She was not the pool of pain and scars that was Ginevra, but she had her own distresses. Evangeline never let me see her pain, never let me see her cry and at first I was thankful that she would at least give me the choice, to spare me. After awhile, though, I craved that part of her as I had had every other part of her. Evangeline was my grounding... she made me able to wake up and face the world. I do not know if I have the same purity of feeling in my love for her as I did with Ginevra, for I loved her and she knew it. I had told her of my fear and her answer had surprised me, had gratified me.

Evangeline had leant down to kiss me, and when I looked into her eyes, I saw that tears had made them shine. A single salty tear fell from her eyes and I, panicked, picked it up with my finger. I stared at the shiny substance on my finger before she took that finger and put it into my mouth.

"Taste my tears, Lucius, and rejoice. Because they are tears of happiness." She leant her head against my heart. "I'm glad, glad that you don't love me as you did her. I don't want to be loved like that, don't want to have the cause to hurt you more that I already can. Darling, I'm glad because what you feel for me is mature. Isn't just some bright love that resounds from hope and not reality."

"You make it real, Evangeline," I whispered into her hair. I held her as she cried into my shirt, felt it's wetness against my skin and yet I did not brush them away. Never again will I wipe another's tears, or fight any of their fears. I will not hold Evangeline's hand to guide her, never that. I will be by her side and let her find her own way in life as she wants it to, I shall never again see a woman the way I want her to be, never again shy from reality as I had been, wanting the pure, the innocent, the clean. I asked her to marry me when we were sitting outside on the rooftop of the castello, the sweat on our bodies from our lovemaking cooling with the night breeze as the stars gleamed down on us. I did not have the Malfoy ring for that, as far as I know, still belonged to Ginevra. I had merely raised her hand, kissed her fingertips.

"Keep me," I had said, softly. "Keep me, please. I'm ready to be kept for as long as you want me."

She turned around so that her breasts brushed against my chest instead of her back and lifted her eyes to look into my eyes. She brushed away the hair from my eyes and slid her fingers back through my hair so that her hand cupped my head. She smiled and pulled my hand up to her lips so that she kissed my fingertips, now.

"I belong to you as much as you belong to me. We come into this, bound to each other. I do not lead this, as neither do you."

"Then bind me," I said. "Because I'm still free." She pulled my head down and let our mouths touch lightly, just lightly. Then she breathed into my mouth.

"I bind thee to my side, equal in life, equal in love, my soul and thee twined till the moment of death separates."

"I bind thee to my side, equal in life, equal in love, my soul and thee twined and separated not by death or life, as that is my wish."

She looked at me, surprise in her eyes, then she nodded, acquiesced. I took the necklace I wore around my neck and opened the small box. In it was a small piece of blade that was as sharp as any knife and a small cup. I enlarged the silver cup with my wand and filled it with water. I took the sliver of blade, enlarged it till it was the size of a small knife and looked at Evangeline. I made a cut just over my heart, a shallow cut, and felt the blood well up to the wound, then travel down, sticky and thick, warm down my skin. I didn't look away from her as I did this, did not wince even as I felt the sharp sting of the blade slicing open my skin. I collected the released blood in the cup, then turned to her. She took the blade from me and made a cut over hear heart, her gazed locked on mine as mine had been before on hers and I gave her the cup to collect her blood in. The water in the cup was red, dark red as the blood, while not copious in amount, was still quite a lot. The level of water, admittedly, was also low. I whispered the ancient Latin words of the binding ceremony and she whispered them with me. I held out my hand and she grasped it, our fingers twined as I picked up the cup. I brought it to my mouth, paused, my eyes locked on hers, then drank down half of it. When I released the cup, my lips were tinted red and the metallic tang of blood remained in my throat. I handed the cup to her and she did the same, finishing all that she could of the liquid. When she laid the cup down, I pulled her to me, lowered my head down to hers, then let my bloodstained mouth rub against hers. our bloods mingled and I moved to do the finishing touch to the ceremony.

We touched each other, like it was new. My hands moved reverently over her skin, memorising her, seeing her as though for the first time. Slowly, the two of us moved together in that age old dance until she gasped, arched herself into me, and laid boneless in my arms. I was not far behind her.

We lay under the stars blood cooling and dried on our skin, our fingers twined as was, irreparably, our souls. My wife was in my arms, the ancient incantation stronger than any legal marriage binding, for she is my wife in my heart. Placed a kiss on her forehead and we lay, cuddled, and waited for the oncoming day with lighter hearts.

The announcement was made that one Lucius Roderique, Lord Malfoy eloped with Evangeline Magdalene, Lady de Wolf, illegitimate _only _child of il Duca Giuseppe de Benedictis. My darling girl didn't tell me she was a Duke's daughter, but I didn't blame her for it. She was the only heir of the old duke, she was to have his fortune. My wife wasn't just a lounge singer, she came from an old and noble family. Did that make me love her more? No. For I came to Evangeline with eyes open. I married her for Evangeline, not for Lady de Wolf. Although I can't lie and say that it wasn't exactly the icing on the cake. We returned to England three years after my departure from there to see what had happened to my household.

It still stood, though barely. My gambling, though notorious, had fetched me a handsome sum. The Malfoy vaults were locked tight and it was no one's but mine, all that money. It would go to Draco only when I die, but till then, it was mine. It was what saved the family. Draco had married Ginevra, in the end. But the two had a one year marriage that was shaky at best. He had a daughter... but neither of us knew if it was his or mine. Her name was Rosaline and after the horrific Weasley/Malfoy divorce that was also the food of tabloids for months, Draco gained custody of the girl. Ginevra was now affianced with none other than Neville Longbottom and Draco was seen quite often in the company of his long time friend, Blaise Zabini. Draco's life was in shambles, but the girl seemed to ground him as Evangeline had with me, and we, the two of us Malfoys, recognised what we had needed. Ginevra Weasley had been like a tempest in our lives, disrupting the natural order that had always stood, defied it with her very presence. It still lingered, like the song. Sometimes at night I think I still hear her laugh and when I go to the rose garden, I see that night of the full moon or the dinner. She had nearly destroyed us, but the Malfoys are strong, we persevere. We are also stubborn as mules and that was what had made us truly what we are. Strong, powerful. And sane.

I love my wife, my Evangeline. She does not grip me as Ginevra gripped me, but she has given me my sanity, my life back. Rosaline is like our own child, as Draco is still young, still hard headed and unknowing of what to do. He ignores the girl, leaves her to our care, but... I can understand. He sees Ginevra's betrayal in that child, he sees everything that hurt him and that he had lost. So had I, or so would I... had I not had Evangeline. It is a sad state of affairs that a Malfoy would forget their own, but... Evangeline and I have hope, still of my son. He will one day wake up, and he will one day realise the gift that he had been given in his daughter. She is a beautiful child with strawberry blonde hair and tragic cinnamon eyes, but she is lovely, intelligent. And she is a Malfoy. One day, he will heal enough to see that, one day, with Blaise's help, he will see her. One day he will be a true father and that is the day that I await to see, for that day is when he will truly become the Lord Malfoy, and not at the time of my death, for being a Malfoy is more than a name, more than wealth and privilege. It is a state of being. He is not far away, is my son. And I had always despaired of him ever being thus... in a way, I do believe that I have Ginevra to thank for that, Ginevra to look at for the maturity of my son. I am indebted to her... how ironic. I remember her and I doubtlessly will always remember her. Hopefully I will remember her easier as time progresses but till then... till then I shall wait and see.

The EndAN: Right, as it is, the story stands at 22, 170 words. That doesn't include the "the end", just the story text. This ship has sailed, and the crew was fantastic. It's over, my first truly "complete" fic. I didn't realise it was going to be this soon, but there you go. My longest fic not including the strange little "soap opera" that Leena and I wrote earlier this year (that one stood at over 31 000 words. And was over 81 pages. But yeah. And it was also written in the space of a few weeks. You know... looks askance at Leena Were we mad? Or just generally jobless? Did we do any prep _at all_ during that time? shakes head Aaaanyway, that's it, folks. It's been nice writing this.

Oh yeah, it began as a One Shot

Bibliography:

Sonnets 38 and 147 by Shakespeare

"words quote"- Picture of Dorian Gray- Oscar Wilde

Song quoted among others.. ahem. My Immortal- Evanescence.

Story influenced by reading one too many fics by LadyRhiyana (Malfoy Grove, Lord Malfoy etc. I was about to use High Clan politics when I realised belatedly that it wasn't canon and that it was LR's. I stopped myself in time, thankfully, before it became plagiarism). Besides, I like her Lucius. He was human, he wasn't perfect, but he was human.

Special thanks:

My band of mates that I managed to force into reading my stuff, ahem. They stand as: Nicki, Jas, Leena, Helen and Dobseh

Eurothrash, who said she liked my characterisation of Lucius better than hers (to which I still think, are you _mad?_)

Avanti and Proud, my non-LJ mates/readers

Everyone else who've been tricked into reading this.

_The title of this fic was influenced by Shakespeare's Sonnet 38, which can be found along with Sonnet 147 in my memories, which is where this baby has been kept, also.  
_

The version of the story on is tamed to an R. This chapter, along with chapter 4 is supposed to be rated NC-17. Email me at aida.zahar (at) gmail (dot) com, if you want to read the original version. Otherwise, you could go to my LiveJournal (which is under my homepage on my profile) and read it there. It's all in the memories. Happy reading, all. _  
_


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